


the time we have

by scionavarielle



Series: the time verse [1]
Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:06:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scionavarielle/pseuds/scionavarielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We are desperate!”</p><p>Manuel raised his eyebrows. “Correction, you are desperate, Schweinsteiger.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  

He came again, Sami noticed. The guy, who was currently looking through the milk section, always came at this hour. Every Monday at three pm. 

At first, Sami didn't recognize the guy but as the latter always appear in a routine schedule, soon it took Sami's attention. He always came at three, greeted Sami with a little nod and a smile, walked to the milk section, stood there for about thirty minutes before walking to the cashier to pay. Sometimes, he wandered to the other section, but it was rarely. 

To say Sami was curious it was an understatement. He wanted to make a conversation with the guy but every time he tried to do that, cat seemed to got his tongue. Today was no different. All he could ever say to the guy was the formality statement. "Thanks for buying, come again next time," was all he could ever tell the guy.

.

.

"You should ask him out."

"Excuse me?" Sami was startled from the sudden statement coming from Cris - Cristiano Ronaldo - another guy who worked there.

It was lunch time and since both of them had the same shift that day, they ate together - a simple lunch box from the work. Cris drank first before wiping his mouth.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Sami, we could see the vibe you're giving to him." 

"I don't get you," Sami muttered. Denial. 

"You know denial is one step to the truth. Just go talk to him." Sami continued munching his lunch. “We don’t live forever, you know?” Sami gulped the food, swallowing hard suddenly at the mention of that. He knew where this conversation could lead to, he didn’t know if he would like it or not. “How old are you now, eighteen, nineteen?”

“Nineteen,” Sami answered abruptly.

Cris clapped his hand in excitement, like he just got a one-hundred for a quiz. “See! You just have _one year_ more. Just live to the fullest.”

Ever since the _explosion_ of the population happened, all the governments then decided to control the population. By the age of 20th, the government will end their life. Nobody knew how, except the why _of course._ It just happened ever since they were born and as far as Sami could recall. They were born, taught in the government, lived their life and at the age of 20, they would die in _peace –_ or so he had been told. No one even remembered their parents because well, who could? Somehow this rule had been working. No excess human population even low criminal rate, because who would want to spend their short life in a jail? Definitely not many, though there’re still some enjoy the thrills of danger, but that was another story.

Sami knew Cris was right – about his length of year left – but still he didn’t want to admit it was hard to gather the courage to talk to the guy. He wondered why though.

.

.

It happened about a week later, the very first conversation Sami made with the guy. He also finally got the name of the guy – Mesut. Sami couldn’t really remember exactly. It was just another routine. Mesut came, greeted him, went for the milk section, but this time there was a frown in the former’s face. He walked to the cashier –empty handed. Sami then realized that the milk that Mesut usually bought was out.

“It’ll come tomorrow, we usually have new stocks on Tuesday,” Sami said, interrupted whatever Mesut was trying to say.

“Ah, I see.” Mesut nodded.

“If you want, I could give you a call. I mean, when the stocks have arrived, so you’ll know.” The nervousness system was working very well in his voice but he had finally been able to speak with the guy.

There was a bright smile on Mesut’s face, like a child being given a candy. “That’ll be good. My code is 1088.” Sami nodded and inputted the data to the screen in front of him. He finally got the guy’s name through the information system instead from the guy’s mouth itself. How funny that was.

“Mesut Özil, is it?” The guy, now recognized as Mesut, smiled and nodded.

“Yes, and –?”

“Ah, Sami Khedira,” Sami nodded. It was kind of weird to tell his name, been so long since he introduced himself in this normal and awkward way.

Mesut, however, found that different as his smile grew larger and Sami swore he could see some twinkling on those clear brown eyes. “Thank you, I’ll be looking forward to your call. I mean for the milk.” Sami nodded again before Mesut decided that was the time to leave the place.

As weird as it sounded, Sami wanted to grab Mesut’s hand, give a _hand shake_ (He didn’t know if people still did that _these days_ ) and probably ask for a coffee or something. Nevertheless, that was in his mind, he should just forget about that.

.

.

Sami would say that their relationship didn’t go suddenly to friends or even _more_ , but they spoke and it was fine for Sami. He knew about Mesut more, how that guy loved to hear music, that the milk Mesut used to buy was actually for the latter’s friends, and much much more. The knowledge was something scary to Sami because it meant that they were growing closer the same time his _year_ was approaching.

“I see you guys have developed something, I’m happy for that.” Sami could get a hint of playfulness in Cris’ voice but, it’s Cris so he just ignored it.

“How many?”

“Hmm. 6 months or so, I think, not really counting.” Lied. Sami knew exactly how many days were left. 6 months, 16 days, 4 hours, and now 27 seconds. It was something inevitable. Sami wondered how people could live like this, a human being that changed into something not precious, like a fly.

“Opps, he came. I think I should leave you guys behind. Might as well check the storage for a while.” At that, Crist left Sami with the now walking Mesut.

“Hi,” Mesut said, bit nervous, somehow.

“Hi,” Sami replied softly. A hint of smile was shown on his face. “How can I help you today, Mes?”

“It’s my birthday. I’m turning eighteen.”

One year younger then. Sami thought. This was not good. Definitely not good at all. “I see, happy birthday then. You’ll enjoy lots of your days from now on.”

“I…how old are you?” From the very first time, the age topic was taboo, something they tried to avoid, but to Sami, this was another thing he had foreseen.

“Nineteen,” Sami replied softly.

They didn’t speak much that day. Sami did, however, manage to force Mesut to take a cake from the shop, said that it was Sami’s treat to _celebrate_ Mesut’s birthday.

.

.

Sami didn’t intend to avoid Mesut. No, it was a coincidence that he changed his shift to Tuesday for the next one month. He just wanted to take a rest. He needed that. And for one full month, he didn’t see Mesut. Aside from that guy coming to store, Sami didn’t know the guy at all. They didn’t make a promise to meet outside, to hang out, to walk together, or anything.

Sami enjoyed his life as much as he could as a guy with his so called death was coming close. The government gave a large amount of money to Sami three months later, two months before his birthday. It was so, the government said, their people could _relish_ their last moment. Sami felt sick suddenly.

 _It’s time_ , he thought.

Two months were enough of preparations. He quitted his jobs, everyone understood. Not once he saw Mesut, not like that guy would know he would be going anyway. He just nodded to everyone, his colleague, hugged them if necessary, then he went back to his house.

To say he was startled was understatement. Mesut was there, in front of his apartment, leaning on the door with the former’s eyes locked to the shoes. “Mesut?”

“Hi, I asked for your date from your colleague.”

“Toni or Cris?”

“Cris, I think. I’m not really sure. He told me your date and your address, so.”

“You should just go home,” hissed Sami under his breathe.

“Until you let me come in. I need to talk to you, _please_?”

Sami only stayed quiet. The nervousness on Mesut’s expression was obvious and Sami finally gave in. He opened the door to his apartment and let Mesut in. If Mesut found his apartment was huge, that guy didn’t mention anything, Sami could look from the eyes.

“Sit down,” Sami nodded to the sofa while he walked to the kitchen, preparing some drinks for them – alcohol might be helpful at this moment. When Sami was back, he brought two glasses and a bottle of wine. He poured the wine to the glasses and handed one to Mesut, one to himself. He sat on the opposite sofa, facing Mesut.

“I have met you _before_ ,” Mesut said.

Sami laughed darkly. “What made you think so?”

“In my _dreams_ , I _know_ you. It keeps coming, I don’t know why.” Mesut rambled, trying to grasp the words from his mind. It entertained Sami at some point, seeing Mesut like a little kid being caught for something _bad._

“We all dream, doesn’t make me meet you _before_.” Emphasizing the last word before he sipped his drink in one gulp.

Mesut also drank, probably in need of some trigger or something. “It was real, I _saw you_.”

“You saw someone you’ve met in your dream, not only me.”

“Why do I feel like you’re avoiding my question, at all?”

Sami shrugged. He was waiting for Mesut to probably ask another question, but the sound of a loud _thud_ was heard and he grinned. He walked to the now unconscious Mesut, poked the softness of the latter’s cheeks, then whispered. “ _We’ll see again each other soon_.”

.

.

“He didn’t remember you?”

“He did, I know he did, he just avoid that.”

“We didn’t have much time, _Mesut_ , we _need him_ , we need him to _remember_.”

“I’m trying.”

“Guess you don’t try enough.”

Mesut sighed. He didn’t expect to be woken up with lots of questions. His head still felt dizzy. Fucking Sami with his so called tricks. It was hard enough to locate that guy and now he missed Sami _again_.

“He said something to you, do you remember what it is?”

He shook his head a little bit abrupt for his liking. The person who asked – Bastian – eyed him for a while, not taking it at all. “If I do, I will tell you, Bastian, you know I will.” Bastian gave a long last look before walking to his station, typing report probably.

They had been working for this project for about a year already. Mesut could see everyone was desperate. They need to find the _cure,_ if anything. They had seen what happened, what the government _actually_ did. The people, they didn’t die, they just being made into a heartless soldier, fighting against each other just for the sake of so called _peace._ It was a sickening sight for Mesut to see. How they didn’t even react the moment the knife passed through their heart, or when they stepped on their friends’ bodies.

Mesut didn’t know how he had been assigned to this project, to get back Sami’s memory, to help them. He knew something was off, but he didn’t want to pry more. He was tired. Going through the time and space was always exhausting. This time was no different and he _failed_ again.

He remembered actually, what Sami said and what the latter had given him before his consciousness faded away. A small grip to the letter in his pocket, a letter from the one he would be chasing again and this time, he would make sure he would not fail.

“You should get rest. Two hours. And then we’ll start again,” Bastian ordered to which Mesut nodded. He lied down again, slowly closing his eyes. Two hours. Another two hours of endless nightmare before he would be sent to meet the _nightmare_ itself.

The letter in his pocket was soon forgotten as the dream slowly came. The letter that only contained several numbers:

“40.4165000, -3.7025600”

.

.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, Sami didn't recognize the guy but as the latter always appear in a routine schedule, soon it took Sami's attention. He always came at three, greeted Sami with a little nod and a smile, walked to the milk section, stood there for about thirty minutes before walking to the cashier to pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> Because somehow this keeps bugging me on my dream, so, I decided to just write it somehow. Anyway, enjoy

Mesut was lying.

The moment that boy shook his head to the question, Bastian knew that the former was hiding something. It was obvious that Mesut remembered what Sami had said and that there was something given to the boy. However, Bastian decided not to force Mesut if the boy didn’t want to say anything. He just hoped that somehow Mesut would realize how everything would be different from now. They needed to quicken their pace.

He was too immersed in his own thoughts that he didn’t realize that the door to his room had been opened and there stood a woman whom he known. Sarah. Sarah had always been there for Bastian, from the beginning they realized what happened in their bodies until _now._

“How are you feeling?” Sarah asked as she slowly walked closer to Bastian, who just sat on the couch.

“Confuse, terrify, scare, and _apprehensive.”_

She then sat beside him, patting his back like she did whenever he was feeling down. “You’ll be fine. This is going to work.”

“It better be,” Bastian whispered. “It better be.”

Sarah gave a peck to Bastian’s forehead and hugged the latter, giving the comfort he needed right now for the one he _wanted_ the most didn’t have much time anymore.

.x.

Mesut was in Madrid, or what’s left from Madrid. The numbers that were given to him was actually a coordinate and it didn’t take a while until he figured it out. He just gave it to Manuel before he was being _sent_ to somewhere else again. He also told Manuel to keep it as a secret. He didn’t want Bastian to know his whereabouts. It was not that he was trying to hide this from Bastian, he just wanted to make sure.

What made him different from the others?

Why, of everyone, Mesut was the one being _given_ this _task_?

He was hoping that this time he could catch Sami and being given the chance to ask about everything. The walk in Madrid made him feel a bit nostalgic. Kind of weird recalling he had never been in here before or in his _task._ Not many people were out on the streets. Well, who would be out at 6 am in the morning anyway? Mesut would.

The steps stopped in front of a big stadium. He greeted the security there and some people who had worked in early shift. Somehow he just knew where he should be going. Strange, but he could careless that for now. The moment he was on the field – a football field, it was different. Standing in the middle of the green grass created a feeling of freedom he longed for. He took a deep breathe, inhaling the air with his eyes closed.

Just a moment to forget he had a task to do and rejoiced the moment right then.

If he opened his eyes earlier, he would probably notice that Sami was there, hidden somewhere in the audiences’ seat, watching Mesut intensely.

.x.

As the things happened around, Mesut could understand if people then decided to be hostile towards each other. They would not want to get _too close_ because they knew what happened once they reached 20. However, there was always Thomas. That boy was anything but frigid. In fact, Mesut could not recall the last time Thomas didn’t have a smile on the latter’s face.

“Mesut! How are you today?” Speaking of the devil. Thomas walked into the café, all hyper per usual. Big grin, eyes twinkling in happiness, body bouncing, and Mesut didn’t miss the hyper tone the other boy used.

“Good Thomas,” answered Mesut.

Thomas nodded and changed to his uniform. They were, after all, a waiter in the café. Thomas was a part time, while Mesut, well he just needed something to do while looking for a certain Sami Khedira. He just hoped this will end soon because he didn’t think his body could bear another 2 months in this _alternate reality_ or whatever it’s called.

“I thought that a waiter supposes to smile to his customer?” A voice that somehow familiar to him was being processed in his mind. He looked up to face with a mischievously smiling Sami.

Maybe God had finally granted his prayer. All he had to do now was to make sure he could get a chance to talk to Sami. He _needed_ to. “How would you expect someone to smile if he’s not in the mood, sir?”

Sami – or Sami’s look alike – chuckled lightly. He shook his head. “You should be a little bit professional even on this kind of job, no?”

“And what kind of job you’re referring sir?” If there was not any sarcasm being implied by Sami, at least he could pretend to play along.

“Well, anyway, one coffee, plain. I need my caffeine, if you please?” Mesut just nodded and grabbed the menu from Sami’s.

He was debating whether to give Sami his _code number_ or not. Mesut was not really gay. He had a fair share of women before along with some men in the middle. Most likely he just enjoyed the making out and since he knew he couldn’t live forever, curiousity got the better of him. He then realized that he could care less about gender as long as both parties were satisfied and yeah, if he could feel the butterfly in his stomach. He also knew that even if he was like that didn’t mean the entire universe would be in his favor. Maybe _the_ Sami here was not gay, hell, Mesut wasn’t sure if _the_ Sami was _that_ Sami.

“I think you should just put your _number_ there if you’re that interested, Mes,” whispered Thomas to Mesut’s ear.

“What makes you think I want to do that?” He arched his eyebrows to which Thomas just chuckled.

“People said I’m oblivious, but I could see that you _want_ to give him your _number_ , desperately if I may add.”

If Mesut was blushing, either Thomas didn’t notice or Mesut was good at hiding it. Well, he could save his pride later. He needed to do his _mission_ before the time’s up. So he did what he had been thinking. He gave Sami his number and waited if the guy would somehow took the hint or if this mission was just another _failure._

It’s not for another hour that when Sami paid the bill and went out from the café that Mesut realized that his number was nowhere and in fact was being replaced by another numbers. Mesut groaned. Bastian would not like this, at all.

.x.

Across the café stood Sami hidden in his blue hoodie. He smiled seeing a frustrated Mesut upon finding out the numbers he left. That boy was so desperate to know the reason as to why he was the one chosen for this _mission_. Sami was confident that there was never once crossed in Mesut’s mind that Sami was the one who _ordered_ Bastian to do this. Well, not like Bastian _realized_ who Sami was – is.

They were frustrated, Sami could understand that. The chip that hidden somewhere inside their bodies was like a bomb ticking. When they reached 20, the chip will then operate and the poison or the liquid hidden in the chip would then be spread through the veins. Trying to get rid of the chip was not an option either. Apparently the government had somehow decided to _shut down_ the heart and so the chip was being used as an artificial heart to pump the blood. If you took out the chip then you could guess, your blood would not circulate and as we knew that blood transferred the oxygen, so death would be what happened.

The chip would pump the blood until you reach your 20th, how it happened, the details was entirely another matter. After that, the chip would stop pumping and you’ll dead, but only for a while. The liquid worked like Cantarella, stopped your heart and then it started beating again, however as another person this time. At that time, you’ll be brainwashed and _used_ for political matter. What happened afterwards was tragedy and horror.

Sami put both his hands on his jeans pocket. It’s time for another run. Maybe next time, he would stop playing around Mesut and be serious, but oh what would be the fun of it?

.x.

Saying that Bastian was enraged was probably not enough to describe his situation right now. Mesut had gone without telling him and Manuel also hid that fact. It was not until he came to the empty room he realized that Mesut had gone.

“He asked me not to tell you,” Manuel said as a matter of fact.

“And you agreed to that?” If a glare could kill a person, Manuel would be just a name then.

“Because he looked desperate, what else should I say? And besides, you look like you’re going to kill him anytime soon if he fails another time.” Manuel was incredibly calm even though he was facing a very furious Bastian.

“We are _desperate_!”

Manuel raised his eyebrows. “Correction, _you_ are _desperate_ , Schweinsteiger.”

Bastian clutched Manuel’s shirt and they were about to fight, a hidden intense battle between their eyes.

“Basti.” Sarah’s voice was a bit forlorn and this caught the two men attention. They both turned around to meet with a guilty Mesut. He looked down, avoided any kind of eye contact with both of them. Bastian let go of Manuel and walked to Mesut, standing in front the boy.

He gave the piece of paper with numbers on it to Bastian without looking to the person. Bastian read the letter and somehow his face turned.

Sarah recognized the face.

An expression Bastian used whenever he would go to _fight_. This time, hopefully, it would not end _like before_. “Manu, get Marco and Lahm. Tell them we will need them here.”

“And Miro?” asked Manuel.

“And Miro, if possible, we will also need Messi.”

“Should I ask why?”

“Not if you want to win this!” shouted Bastian who looked a bit excited for someone who would be going to a _war_.

At last, _something_ could happen and _maybe_ this time, they could.

Mesut could only look along with Sarah who was giving him a glass of water to take a breath. After all, it was not easy to do what he was doing. Soon he had forgotten the numbers that he had given to Bastian. This time, the numbers were something that he didn’t know. Random numbers with alphabets written.

53 4f 4f 4e

.

.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luv,  
> [eL](https://twitter.com/_Verzeihen)


End file.
